


The Game is On

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sexual Tension, The Game is On!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Y/N, sick of being condescended by her partner in crime, Sherlock, challenges him to do something that just may prove difficult for him― showing affection.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Kudos: 29





	The Game is On

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how I feel about the ending, but I don’t know. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

“I suppose the victim’s been stabbed with that dagger over there.” You pointed to the blood-soaked dagger laying untouched next to the victim.

“Actually, that was a forensic countermeasure probably placed by the murderer. The stab wounds are too wide and jagged to come from that dagger. Judging by the size of the wounds I’d say it was something serrated. Like a kitchen knife. The man, yes a man―it’s obvious from the depth of the wounds and the bruising on her hips― was right-handed. He―”

You turned around and abandoned the body to talk to John, ignoring Sherlock. Sherlock’s gaze followed your path but proceeded to tell the police about the victim’s job.

After finishing up with the police, Sherlock made his way over to you.

“Y/N, I think our next move is—“ You turned around and walked away before he could finish. He stood there and for once in his life, he was confused.

“Tell me. What do you think of the victim?” Sherlock asked you. You were sitting on John’s armchair, reading an article about the murder. 

“Why?”

Sherlock paused before saying slowly, “I value your opinion.” You scoffed. “What?” Sherlock hissed. “What could I have possibly done? You’ve been avoiding me all day.“

"You’re the great Sherlock Holmes,” you mocked. “You can figure it out.” You turned to leave the apartment; you needed some air. Just as you were about to cross through the doorway, Sherlock grabbed your arm.

“Let me go.”

“What have I done wrong?”

“I thought you could never do anything wrong, Mr Holmes,” you turned your head back to the doorway to avoid his gaze. You knew you would get caught up in those eyes if you looked at them that closely. 

“I’m not God, Y/N.”

“Well, you sure as hell have an ego equal to him,” you brought your gaze back to him before you could think to stop yourself. You bit your lip. “Now let me go.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Stubborn arse.”

“I learned from the best,” Sherlock said, winking at you. You huffed in annoyance.

“Sherlock, you’re infuriating,” you muttered.

“Vague, but it’s a start.” He loosened his grip around you.

“You’re infuriating because you make it difficult to be your friend. You condescend me all the time and I’m tired of it. And you hardly act like a friend. You aren’t friendly or considerate of my feelings, you place me in situations where I feel obligated to risk my life for very little outcome, and hell, I-I don’t think you even know my birthday. You’re very cold, Sherlock.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Sherlock looked at you, puzzled.

You thought for a second. At first, you were going to tell him to simply be nicer to you; but no, you were going to make this fun. You were going to give him a taste of his own medicine. Something difficult, even for a high functioning sociopath.

“Let’s play a game.” You gave him a devious smirk. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. He let go you your arm.

“I’m listening.”

“A game that will be challenging, even for the likes of you,” you started. “I want you to show me affection. I want you to act as if you love me with all your heart and treat me like any _normal_ man would with his…” you tried to think of the sappiest word for ‘girlfriend.’ “Sweetheart. I want you to call me by the all the endearments you can think of, I want you to make me breakfast, do petty tasks for me… The whole nine.” You smirked at him. “Or I could stay cross with you.”

Sherlock looked shocked for a second but quickly regained his composure. He looked down for a moment, before looking back up at you, a smirk on his lips.

“The game is on.”

You woke up the next morning, completely worn out from staying up late, researching potential suspects of the murder. You decided to make yourself a warm cup of tea to wake you up.

As you drop the teabag in, you felt someone wrap their arms around your waist and press themselves on your back. You yelped and almost spilt your tea.

“Hello love,” Sherlock cooed.

“Sherlock! I almost spilt my tea,” you tried to say angrily, but you only smiled. You liked the feeling of him wrapped around you.

“I’m so sorry. Let me make you breakfast,” Sherlock leaned away a bit so you could turn to face him. He let go and walked to the fridge.

_He’s never said sorry before_ , you thought. _Maybe this game will be more fun than I thought…_

“You’re oddly chipper. Something happen?” you asked innocently.

“I couldn’t tell you, my dear,” Sherlock hummed. “Maybe it’s you. You look absolutely ravishing today, my love.” You shivered at his words. _He’s better at this than you had thought he would be_.

“Where’s John?” you asked, changing the subject. You didn’t want to get caught up in the fantasy of Sherlock being in love with you.

“He’s taking a day off of mystery solving. He’s spending time with Mary and Rosie.”

“Oh that’s lovely,” you replied. Sherlock placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of you. 

“Eat, love.” Your stomach fluttered at the nickname. You realized that you were close to folding. You were going to need to make the game harder for Sherlock. _Oh, the game is on._

“Sherlock, can you speak with the press about the murderer? Just what you know about him?” Lestrade asked.

“I don’t want to speak with the press.”

“Oh I think you should,” you said. “I really want you to.” You batted your eyelashes innocently.

Sherlock tightened his jaw and sighed through his nose.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

When you got to the conference, all the photographers focused their attention on Sherlock and asked him countless questions.

“Mr Holmes! What do you know about the recent murders?”

“There’s only been one murder so far,” Sherlock answered bluntly.

“What can you say about the planted murder weapon?”

“Be patient. I’ll talk about it later,” Sherlock huffed, annoyed.

“Where’s your other partner?”

“John is not here today.”

“Who’s the girl next to you?”

“This is Y/N,” Sherlock said flatly.

“Is she your new partner? Family? Girlfriend?” Everyone started blasting out questions about you now. They kept asking if the two of you were dating. You stepped closer to Sherlock. You had to admit, the attention was kind of fun. Even more, because the questions surrounded yours and Sherlock’s relationship.

Sherlock didn’t answer any questions about your relationship. You used this as the perfect opportunity to throw him off. As he stepped up on the stage, you leaned up towards him and gave his cheek a quick peck. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened and looked at you, completely stunned. The paparazzi went wild, snapping more pictures and asking more questions. You smirked at him.

“Go on. Answer their questions,” you laughed.

Throughout the whole conference, Sherlock could hardly focus. His cheek stung. You kissed him. Why was he so thrown off? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you? Why did that kiss matter so much to him? Your lips felt so soft on his cheek. 

“Mr Holmes?” the reporter asked.

“W-What?” Sherlock was snapped out of his thoughts.

“What was the motive of the culprit?”

“Why did you do that?” Sherlock pulled you aside after the conference and away from the lurking paparazzi. He pulled you close to hide your faces.

“Do what?” you asked, feigning cluelessness.

“You know what,” Sherlock spat.

“Oh, that. Why? Did it bother you?”

“I- Yes it di―“

“Maybe you should hold your tongue, Mr Holmes. You wouldn’t want to offend me now would you.”

Sherlock bit his lip in irritation. God, he loved it when you teased him, despite that it frustrated him to no end.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock could barely bring his voice to a whisper. Being so close to you flustered him. _Flustered? He never got flustered. What were you doing to him?_

You leaned into him and brought your lips to his ear. He could feel him stiffen at your touch. “I’m making the game more… enticing.” A wicked smile flashed across your face. You kissed his temple before pulling away.

“Y/N…” Sherlock nearly moaned at your actions. His eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. You backed away from him and returned to the conference. He eyed you as you walked away. _What had he gotten himself into?_

Sherlock didn’t speak to you the whole cab ride back to the flat. _Had you gone too far? Was he angry with you?_

You walked into the flat and turned to Sherlock. “Sherlock, I―”

He slammed the door closed. Slowly, he turned to you. You opened your mouth to say something, but quickly shut it when he closed the distance between you. He pulled you close to him; one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your head. 

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered. He breathed in your scent: lavender, coriander, and pine.

“I don’t―”

“Don’t play coy with me Y/N,” he muttered. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I love you.”

“You what?” 

“I-I I didn’t mean… I just―” And before you knew it, Sherlock was kissing you. After overcoming your initial shock, you kissed him back. 

He broke off the kiss after a few seconds.

“I think I’m in love with you, too. I-I don’t know what it feels like…” he trailed off.

“It feels like this,” you leaned your forehead against his and kissed him again.

“God, I love you, Y/N.”


End file.
